


Origin Story

by PoemJunkie



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemJunkie/pseuds/PoemJunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has superpowers. Some are better than others. Ian and Mickey are still both fucked for life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origin Story

Ian’s about fourteen when it happens to him for the first time. He’s in P.E., stretching with the rest of the class before starting their unit on soccer, enjoying the sensation of being outside, even though it’s getting a little nippy to be out in shorts. He’s appreciating the view of the rest of the boys in them, though.

Ian has his legs spread and is reaching for his toes when he hears it. _“God, Ian Gallagher’s got such a nice butt.”_

Ian stands up immediately, because even though he recognizes the voice as belonging to Rhonda O’Shaughnessy, he knows – despite it never having happened before – that she hadn’t said it out loud. It had been inside his head.

Ian turns to look at Rhonda, and sure enough, her eyes are glued appreciatively at his waist level. As Ian turns, Rhonda startles and looks away, as casually as if she’d never been caught.

Ian stands there in a daze until the gym coach yells at him to get with it Gallagher and he starts to stretch again. His mind isn’t on the crisp fall day or the way he can see the outline of Roger Spikey’s dick through his thin gym shorts anymore.

Gallaghers do not get telepathy. Oh, Ian knew that he's set to be getting a gift any day now. Puberty had hit and his voice had already cracked and he had a respectable amount of hair on his groin and under his arms (the same unfortunate shade of red as the orange strings of the hair on his head). Lip had gotten his gift two years ago already, despite only being a year older than Ian. Half of his class had already gotten theirs.

But telepathy was useful. _Powerful_. People with gifts like telepathy got drafted for special government teams. And the chances of getting something actually useful were something like one in a million. Or one in two million, maybe, Ian’s not Lip, he doesn’t have the statistic off the top of his head, but it’s a lot.

There has to be some catch. Maybe he can only read Rhonda O’Shaughnessy’s mind. God, that would be awful, the girl is insipid, even Ian knows that and he’s only talked to her maybe four times ever. Or the minds of other redheads, or people named Rhonda. Gifts are weird like that. So limited as to be totally useless.

Lip can talk to technology, but says that it’s nothing but a giant pain in the ass, because all technology does is complain about the people using it, and technology is everywhere, so Lip gets it all the time.

It’s actually really annoying for Ian, too, because they’re not allowed to keep anything remotely mechanical in their room anymore, because Lip can’t sleep otherwise, and Ian likes to listen to the iPod he stole from some douchebag jock’s locker before bed.

Fiona can sense danger, but only when it’s about to happen to someone else, and only one person at a time. She’s pretty much had that locked onto Carl since he started to walk, but as far as Ian can tell, it’s only marginally useful, because knowing something’s about to happen has only rarely allowed Fiona to stop the thing from happening.

And then there’s Frank, who really doesn’t need his gift to be able to sniff out any alcohol in the vicinity, but it certainly hasn’t helped his alcoholism. Ian can recall at least twice in his life when Frank had tried to drink mouthwash or rubbing alcohol straight from the bottle while trashed, because his gift pointed him at the liquor but didn’t always differentiate.

Telepathy, though. The Army would take him in a second if he had telepathy. The government would pay to put him through officer’s training. Ian can see it all spooling out in front of him and he stills again, listening intently, straining his ears, even though he knows he didn’t actually hear it the first time.

There’s nothing. Not even from Rhonda O’Shaughnessy.

Well, it wasn’t like Ian had been getting his hopes up.

00000000

It takes almost a week for Ian to figure it out, because it doesn’t happen all that often. Just sometimes, he’ll be walking in the hall or sitting in class, and he’ll hear something. Usually it’s just a passing thought, but when he listens in on the girl that sits behind him in Bio having an extremely vivid fantasy about him, he gets it.

Sex thoughts. About Ian. That’s what he can hear.

Or, _attraction_ , at least, and even though he’s disappointed that it’s nothing that the Army would be interested in, he has to admit, it’s better than some of the gifts his other classmates have gotten. It’ll probably even be useful, especially since he’s not turned on by Karen Jackson’s boobs at all, and being out in a South Side high school is not an option.

Lip, of course, laughs himself sick when Ian tells him and Fiona. Fiona punches him – not gently – in the arm and wraps her arms around Ian.

“That’s great, kid,” she says warmly, because it’s traditional to congratulate someone on their gift, even if it’s a dumb one. Ian doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Fiona wishes his gift wasn’t sexual in nature, but it’s not like either of them can do anything to change it.

“Fiona, can you take me to get graded this week?” Ian asks, hopefully. Registration and grading of powers wasn’t mandatory for the general populace, but it was for members of the armed forces, and Ian wants to do everything possible to convince eventual West Point recruiters that he is serious about his preferred profession.

Fiona’s face falters at that. Testing and grading costs fifty bucks, and they didn’t have a lot of extra cash lying around for something that wasn’t a requirement. Lip was more blunt.

“The fuck do you want to do that for?” he demands, turning from where he had been having an argument with the toaster – it was apparently finicky about English muffins, according to Lip – to face Ian. “The government doesn’t need to know about your kinky sex power, Ian.”

“Terrible idea,” agrees Frank, wandering into the kitchen from the living room, nose in the air like a hunting dog. “These government bastards, what do they do with that information? I’ll tell you what, they use it for profiling. Oh, they say they don’t, but what’s the point in it, otherwise?” Frank unerringly heads for the cabinet under the sink and begins rummaging around in the space. “Fiona, why on God’s green earth would you put the booze under the sink?” he grouses, rummaging amongst the cleaning supplies and the family’s biggest pot, half full of water from a slowly dripping pipe.

Fiona sighs. “That’s the cleaning supplies, Frank,” she says patiently, like she hasn’t more than once had to stop Frank, shitfaced, from trying to down rubbing alcohol in the middle of the night. She turns to look at Ian, and he could see compassion in her eyes, like she knew why he wanted to get out of the South Side and see somewhere else, even if that somewhere else was a dangerous place to be.

“Okay,” she says, smoothing back his hair in a way that she hadn’t done since he’d been a much smaller boy. “We’ll take you on Saturday, how’s that?”

Frank scoffs, but Ian had heard him argue vehemently for mandatory registration when he was deep in his cups, so he ignores him. Lip’s accusing eyes and pursed lips were harder to ignore, since he actually respected Lip’s opinion occasionally, but Ian just smiles at Fiona and tries not to think about it. He is never going to be officer material if he can’t stand up to a little pouting from his older brother.

True to her word, Fiona takes Ian to the testing center on Saturday, Carl, Debbie and Liam in tow. She offers to come in with him, but Ian knew that she would drag the whole crew along with her, and he would rather have to face the tester alone than have four of his siblings watching him go through it.

He submits to a blood draw and a cheek swab, and manfully doesn't blush when he answers questions about the nature of his power and when he’d first gotten it and how it works. His tester is a tall Indian lady with short hair who didn’t even blink an eye when she heard about his power. Ian supposes when you work in a place like this, you heard about all kinds of freaky powers.

Since he is a telepath, there was a whole series of standardized tests for him to go through, starting with things that Ian had seen on TV, like trying to guess shapes on cards and to draw a picture of what he thought his tester was thinking about. Ian guesses randomly and draws a tree, because he has no idea what she is thinking. Her face is perfectly blank throughout.

It's almost an hour later that the tester puts down her pen from her copious notes and pronounces, “Limited telepath, grade C.”

Ian feels a flash of disappointment. It wasn’t a bad grading, but it wasn’t a great one, either. It's just average.

“Are you sure?” he asks, anxiously. “I mean, is there anything I can do that might raise my grading?”

Her face softens just slightly. “You’re a clear receiver, but the content is too limited to ever be anything above a C,” she tells him. “You might bump up to a CC if you had control of your receiving, but that’s the limit. You might be able to do it with a lot of specialized training and time, but it would be a lot of work for not a lot of gain.” She looks him up and down, the way he sits ramrod straight in his chair.

“You looking to go into the military?” she questions.

“Army,” he confirms.

“They require you to get tested so they know if you have something that might be useful. Sometimes there are things that can disqualify you from service, but this isn’t one of them. It’s not something that will give you an advantage, but it’s not going to hurt your career, either.” She smiles at him. It was a nice smile. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to work it to your advantage anyway.”

Ian nods and hops off his stool, trudging his way to the waiting room. There is some part of him that had hoped the tester would tell him that he was wrong about his power, that in fact, he was an AAA grading, and they would get some people from the government Special Powers Administration down here to speak to him about starting his training for an elite team, if he liked? It had been a small hope, and Lip would have said a foolish one, but it had still been there.

Fiona looks up from where Liam was sucking on her fingers and beams at him. “How did it go?” she asks.

“Official results in ten to fifteen days, but chances are you’re looking at a limited telepath, grade C,” he tells her, mustering a smile.

She reaches out to ruffle his hair. “That’s great, kid,” she says, and Ian knew she means it genuinely, so he tries not to flinch.

His results arrive thirteen days later, and he tells himself that he isn’t disappointed when the results read exactly as his tester had hypothesized. Ian is a limited telepath, grade C.

He puts his grading results and proof of power registration neatly into a folder in his desk labeled ARMY, and puts it out of his mind. As the woman had said, he reminds himself, it isn’t like there aren't other things that a fourteen-year-old boy can do with the ability to know who wants to have sex with him.

00000000

Kash is – well Kash is a surprise. Ian’s had his gift for a year before he starts working at the local convenience store, and it isn’t like he hasn’t had the occasional adult voice in his head. Almost always, it made him feel skeevy and dirty, and if he had Carl with him, he’d push him behind him and out of sight of the pervert.

Kash isn’t like that, though. First of all, Ian has been working there for months before he hears Kash’s voice in his head. And it isn’t something about his dumb freckles or baby face or smooth, young skin. Ian’s stacking the shelves and shooting the shit with Kash, who’s kind of a cool boss, older than Ian, but not a stick in the mud or anything, and Ian is joking around when he hears,

_“Ian’s so funny.”_

It pulls Ian up short, because he knows by now that he doesn’t get every compliment ever thought about him. He’s never heard a single peep from the heads of any of his siblings, even though Carl is enamored of Ian’s interest in weaponry and clearly thinks that he’s the shit. There has to be that extra something there.

And it’s not like Kash is ugly or anything, even though he always smells faintly of some weird Middle Eastern spice or something. And he’s got money. Not a lot of money, sure, but more than Ian, at any rate. He’s not the kind of guy Ian ever figured would be interested in him, not really.

Ian doesn’t rush it. He lets it unfold naturally, until there’s hardly a day that passes that he doesn’t hear some compliment in Kash’s voice in his head. Ian’s funny, Ian’s hot, Ian’s smart, Ian has a nice ass, Kash bets Ian’s dick is real big, Kash likes his freckles, Kash wonders if he’s got red hair _everywhere_.

And by the time Ian’s already half convinced himself he’s in love with Kash, he’s ready to make his move.

Ian is stocking the shelves with ready-noodle products and watching Kash from underneath his eyelashes. He has to be a little careful. Kash is married and even if he’s in a higher income bracket than the Gallaghers, he’s still a South Sider.

“Hey, Kash,” he calls out casually, because that’s a thing they can do, just chat about nothing. He stands up from his crouch, stretching his hands over his head and letting his t-shirt ride up so that it barely shows a sliver of his white stomach. He doesn’t look at Kash. He doesn’t need to know that Kash’s eyes are on him, that Kash is thinking about putting his mouth on that patch of skin near Ian’s hip.

Sometimes, Ian thinks, he loves his gift.

Ian drops his hands and flashes Kash a smile. Not a sexual one. He doesn’t want to come on too strong and scare the guy away. Just friendly.

“You know, I never asked. What’s your gift? I’ve never seen you use it.”

Ian leans forward, bracing his forearms on the top shelf and looking at Kash over the canned goods.

Kash looks flustered. “Oh,” he said, “it’s really nothing to brag about. It’s practically a spot-on-the-wall power.”

Spot-on-the-wall powers are the ones that are truly useless, not just weak or strange. Like people that can make a red dot appear on the wall. Perhaps it’s fun to make your cat chase, but it doesn’t have any real use at all. Ian thinks that would suck – it would almost like not having any gift at all.

“Nah,” Ian drawls. “I bet it’s something really cool. Or useful.”

A smile tugs on Kash’s mouth, and Ian figures if Kash was as pasty as he was, Ian would be able to see the pleased blush.

“It’s…spices,” he admits. “I can make food spicier. Just by kind of…thinking about it.”

Ian very pointedly doesn’t wince, because he figures that Kash’s power is what makes him smell kind of weird, and it seems like that’s a pretty permanent thing. But Ian’s worked with worse.

“See, I knew it would be useful. I like that sort of stuff, when people’s powers are practical,” he says, nodding. “Mine’s not really good for that kind of stuff.”

It’s fat bait. People love talking about their powers once you get them going. Ian knows at least three-quarters of the powers of his classmates. Showing them off and comparing is practically second nature.

“Oh?” Kash raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a…” Ian taps his temple with two fingertips, “mental thing. But I guess it’s useful in its own way.” Ian cocks his head, ready to drop the bomb. “I can hear it when I’m turning people on. You know. Sex stuff.”

Ian takes in the way Kash tenses and starts to withdraw. “Oh.”

Ian doesn’t drop his smile. “Yeah. It’s really useful for hooking up. You know. Since I can tell who else is gay, too.”

Kash stops retreating. He looks at Ian. He takes in the way Ian’s body is canted towards him, and finally gets it. “ _Oh_.”

As it turns out, Ian’s gift kind of makes him an amazing lover. That’s a real unexpected bonus.

000000000

It’s not like Ian isn’t used to hearing the occasional comment from a girl drift through his head. In fact, it happens with far, far more frequency than from dudes. It’s just that he only really pays any attention when it’s the dudes, and tends to gloss over the girl’s voices.

He is aware that Mandy likes him. It wasn’t even that unusual. Ian knew of at least two other girls who had had short-lived crushes on him. But they generally peter out when Ian doesn’t show the slightest bit of interest.

Ian should have guessed that eventually, he’d attract a girl that wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. And he really should have known better than to think that Mandy wasn’t that kind of girl.

Ian hadn’t really meant anything by shoving his backpack under Mr. Bancroft’s feet, other than that perv with a pornstache shouldn’t be sticking his boner in fifteen-year-old girl’s faces. If he’d known the clusterfuck it would get him into, he would have let Mandy take care of the problem herself.

Ian’s up on the A-frame, stocking the top shelves, when a hand palms his ass. Thinking it’s Kash, he turns, laughing about sexual harassment.

It’s not Kash.

And dear Lord, does Mandy Milkovich have an internal mouth on her.

She _says_ , “You’re funny, Ian Gallagher!” but she _thinks, “God, I would lick his dick like a fucking lollipop.”_

 

She _says_ , "Well, what time do you get off work?" but she _thinks_ , _"So that you can start getting me off with that fat dick I bet you have."_

Ian thinks as fast as he can about ways to put her off gently, to let her know that he's just not interested in that kind of relationship with her. "You know, I think it's inventory night, so probably not until really late." He tries to inject the right mix of regret and matter-of-factness into his tone.

Mandy looks disappointed, but unfortunately isn't put off by his gentle hinting. "Alright. So I guess I'll see you around school tomorrow, then?" _“See all of you if I can get you under the bleachers. That complexion, the curtains have got to match the drapes. Never fucked a redhead before.”_

It’s bad enough what she’s saying on the outside, which, of course, because this is Ian’s life, Kash can hear every word of as he leans over the counter, watching it all with a blank expression. Ian’s just glad that Kash can’t hear everything else.

"Yeah, right, uh, see you tomorrow, Mandy," he says, because what exactly else is there to say? Nothing. Most boys -- _straight_ boys -- would be over the moon at someone like Mandy Milkovich paying them any attention. She's practically a guaranteed lay, and she's hot. For a girl.

Mandy smiles and wraps a hand around Ian's head to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek. He can feel the smudge of her lipstick there and has to fight off a cringe. As she leaves -- she's been there less than a minute but it feels like ten, at least -- her hands linger on his body, slipping from hip to his back and her fingertips dragging across his shirt until distance forces her to separate. Ian feels like he definitely hasn't managed to let her down gently.

"Bye Ian," she calls lightly on her way out the door, and Ian can only give her a weak smile before he briefly locks eyes with Kash, who says nothing, but judges Ian with his eyes like he doesn't have a wife and two children waiting for him at home.

Feeling frustrated at his unaccountable mix of shame and annoyance at the situation and Kash's reaction, Ian turns and continues stocking the shelves, hoping that maybe Mandy will get bored or move on to someone a little more willing and forget all about Ian's momentary heroics.

Turns out, Ian vastly overestimates the Mikovich capacity to let things go. Apparently, they don't have one. Because when Ian gets out of work the next night, Mandy is there, waiting to pounce. Like some kind of starving jungle cat.  Wanting to walk Ian home. And he can't think of a single reason he can say no.

000000000

Ian tells himself a thousand times that he’ll figure out how to let Mandy down gently and in a way that won’t end with her shanking him.

So, of course, he ends up with her on his couch, drinking beer and trying to cuddle up to him in the dark. He’s not entirely sure how this is his life. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t been a bad enough person to deserve this.

Then, she kicks out Carl and it’s just him and Mandy, and Ian’s nearly desperate to figure out how to stop this before it gets out of control.

It gets out of control.

Mandy climbs on top of him, and it’s so wrong on so many levels. She’s tiny, for one thing, so light on his lap that she feels almost insubstantial, especially since the last person he had on top of him like this was Kash, who’s significantly bigger than he is. She has curves that he has no idea what to do with, and lips sticky with makeup, and he just has no idea what to do, or how to get her off without hurting her.

"Mandy, maybe we should --" he starts, but she's apparently way ahead of him.

"Shh," she says, her lips curving into a naughty, secret kind of smile. Ian feels his stomach curdle, and he has never been so unaroused in his life. She giggles and reaches into her skirt to pull out a familiar foil wrapper. "I've got one."

_“Maybe I should suck him without it. Tastes nasty, but boys like that kind of thing. It would get him all revved up to fuck me.”_

Shit, Ian had been hoping that maybe he could bullshit his way through this somehow, keep it to a heavy make-out session maybe, or just get her off with his fingers. There's no way he's going to stay hard enough to fuck her, and he despairs when she takes down his zipper and works his dick out of his boxers. He's limp.

Her eyebrows go up, but she's not deterred in the least. "Shy guy," she says, and her smile is still playing about her lips. "I think that we can take care of that. Her manicured hands wrap around his dick. Even this part of her seems soft and feminine, and nothing at all like Kash, who he feels like he's betraying.

Mandy pumps him up and down with the finesse of an expert, and his dick twitches because that's what dicks do when they get jacked, but Ian's miserable and not into it at all, and can't seem to get it past half mast.

At first, Mandy seems to find it amusing. "Stubborn," she says in a teasing tone, and Ian managed a weak smile. But the longer she works him with no better results, the darker her face seems to get.

"Ian," she grunts at last. "What the fuck?"

Almost relieved, Ian leans forward and pushes her hand off his dick. "I guess I'm not really into it right now," he offers.

Mandy stares at him. Ian bets she doesn't get turned down a whole lot. "What do you mean, not into it?" she demands. "You're a boy. Boy's are always into it."

With Kash, sure, Ian's as horny as any other fifteen year old with a healthy sex drive.

"Do you," Mandy pauses here, as if a new thought was occurring to her. "Do you not like me? Are you not into me? Is that what you're saying?"

Ian pauses, trying to figure out how to diplomatically answer that question, but the pause is apparently enough, because Mandy shoves him in the chest and scrambles off of his lap.

"Oh, my God!" she wails. "That's fucking it, isn't it!"

The cat out of the bag, Ian tries to recover the best he can. "It's really not you," he says, desperately. "This is a situation that is totally and completely on me, I swear. There are tons of guys that would want to be with you."

Mandy's eyes blaze in anger. "Are you saying I'm a slut, Ian Gallagher?" she demands. "Is that why you don't want to touch me? Because I'm so fucking dirty and used?"

Ian physically reeled back, because what? "No, of course not. I just meant--"

"You are going to be so fucking sorry for this Ian Gallagher," Mandy hissed, and there were tears pricking her eyes, and Jesus Christ, Ian hadn't meant to make her cry. "You have no idea how very fucking sorry you and your limp dick are going to be!"

Then she was full out sobbing, snatching her things from the couch and half running to the door.

"Mandy!" Ian starts to call, before remembering that he doesn't actually want to console her and make her think that he does really want her. So he just watches helplessly as she throws the door open and rushes down the steps.

He hears Fiona start up the step and call in an aggravated voice, "Who did what to Mandy Milkovich?"

As Fiona steps through the door, Ian gives a deep sigh and buries his face in one hand and raises his other hand in the air to answer the who part of her question.

Fiona's eyes flick up and down Ian, taking in his defeated posture, before whatever lecture she's about to launch into fades and she just points at him firmly. "Don't you bring the Milkovich brand of trouble to our door, Ian. We can't afford it, I promise you."

Ian nods helplessly, because at least the whole humiliating episode was over, and Mandy wasn't likely to try to climb on top of him again. By the end of the week, every girl in class would probably have the impression that he couldn't get it up, but it wasn't like Ian was all that interested in his reputation with the girls. It was a small price to pay to put an end to the entire affair.

Ian should never have expected a Milkovich to fight with the truth, of all things.

000000000

Ian knows who Mickey Milkovich is, of course. He and Mandy are the youngest Milkoviches, and the closest out of all the siblings. And even though Mickey's the youngest of all the Milkovich boys, he's also the ring leader most of the time, probably because he's the only one of them that can read.

If it were any other Milkovich leading the pack, Ian would just avoid them until they got bored, or found someone else they wanted to beat on. There was always a Milkovich out there somewhere who wanted to give a beat down to someone. Eventually, they would have used up their limited attention span and given up. Sure, Ian would be due a beating if they ever cornered him by chance sometime, but they would have stopped hounding his every step sooner or later.

Not Mickey. Not over Mandy. Mickey would hunt him down, and eventually, he'd catch him. And the longer Ian puts him off, the more severe Mickey will make the beating, just to ensure Ian gets the point.

So, after days of avoiding it, and seeing Lip come home with a face beat to hell, Ian decides it's time to get it over with. He figures his only chance is to get the jump on Mickey and get a few good shots in before the inevitable beat down.

Instead, he comes out to Mandy Milkovich of all people. She’s even pretty cool about it, even though she does still have thoughts about him from time to time that are definitely not friend appropriate. She never tries to have sex with him again, and Ian’s learned to take what he can get when it comes to Mandy.

She calls off her brothers -- calls off Mickey, really -- and Ian figures that’s the end of it.

It’s not the end of it.

000000000

The thing is, Ian gets it. He knows Mandy’s dad’s has been in prison until recently. He knows that the Milkovich brood is ostensibly looked after by their Uncle Ronnie, but Ronnie’s never around and when he is around it’s so he can use their kitchen to cook meth. So he doesn’t like the fact that Mickey shoplifts from Kash’s store, but only because there are three other places in easy distance he could do it from without taking food from somewhere local. Fiona always made sure none of them went hungry, no matter what, and Ian gets that Mickey and Mandy don’t have that. He really does.

So, he lets the stealing go. For the most part.

But Mickey does not get to hit Kash in the face and then walk away like that shit’s acceptable.

The Milkovich house is famous in their neighborhood. Farther than that, even. There is an atmosphere around the entire building that just screams at people to avoid it. Ian had almost forgotten about that aspect of the Milkovich homestead, because it wasn’t actually there when Terry wasn’t present.

Terry Milkovich has what, if it had been just a few grades stronger, would have made him a target for government recruitment. As it was, Ian would lay down money that he was on several watch lists.

Terry Milkovich can instill fear.

Well, that is perhaps too strong a word for it, Ian admits. There was just an unease that comes with being around Terry, a sense of being on edge and a very strong need to give the man a wide berth.

Ian can’t imagine having to grow up with a father like that, especially without another stable adult in the house to lean on, the way that he’s had Fiona. He's sort of surprised the Milkovich siblings aren’t more messed up than they were, but then again, Terry is locked up an awful lot.

When Ian approaches the house to confront Mickey about Kash’s gun (about Kash’s _face_ ) he can feel the difference immediately. Despite the littered remains of what had obviously been a wild celebration to welcome back the Milkovich patriarch, the house is still and quiet, as if the very air was holding its breath and keeping still, rather than disturb Terry Milkovich.

Terry is asleep and snoring on the couch, sprawled indolently, and Ian is almost caught by a momentary unease that sidles through the living room, but he is fully determined and ignores it. Terry is capable of backing up his power with his fists, but Ian has a standing invitation to be in the Milkovich home thanks to his current association with Mandy, and Terry is too drunk to do much even if he truly did object.

Still, Ian moves cautiously, and doesn’t pause in the living room on his way into the room that he’d determined in his earlier visit belonged to the youngest Milkovich boy.

Mickey is sprawled in much the same way his father had been, but where Terry Milkovich had seemed dangerous even in sleep, Mickey just seemed young and untroubled and somehow smaller than he usually does, strutting around the street bundled in a puffy coat with his hair spiked up to give him just a hint of extra height.

Ian doesn’t let that stop him from hoisting the tire iron, though. Mickey Milkovich can be just as dangerous as Terry when he wants to be. Which he proves almost immediately when Ian prods him awake, using his sleepy eyed confusion and a split-second of inattention on Ian’s part to pounce, sending the two of them wresting across the room and then eventually back to Mickey’s bed, where Mickey succeeds in pinning Ian down. Despite his preparedness, Ian hadn’t even landed a single decent hit.

Mickey lands on top of Ian’s chest and holds up the tire iron, ready to bash in Ian’s head and thinks, _“God his lips are right next to my fucking dick.”_

Ian has known Mickey Milkovich his entire life and never had a hint that he was gay. Not a single one. Okay, it’s not like he expects an all-inside pass into the thoughts of every gay boy on the block or everything. No one is contractually obligated to be attracted to him or think about him every time he’s around, or anything. It’s just that most of them have, at least once or twice.

Then again, Mickey’s a year older than him, and Ian knows that even now he looks pretty baby-faced. Maybe he just wasn’t Mickey’s type.

Ian stares up at him, eyes round and shocked, and Mickey sees something or other there, because the very next moment they are ripping their clothes off in such a hurry that Ian almost forgets to take his gloves off until he tries to put his hands on Mickey’s pale, dirty chest and notices the black cotton.

Mickey kind of grunts in satisfaction the second both of them are naked, and Ian has never been more glad that he has the power that he has, because he cannot imagine the things that Mickey’s thinking coming out of his mouth.

 _“Jesus, fuck, he’s so pale. Could mark that skin up_ _so easy. Put on some muscle, he’ll be a real fucking heart throb. Whoa, nice dick. I want that in my mouth next time, maybe. God, I hope there’s a next time.”_

Ian lets out an involuntary groan at that, because Mickey Milkovich wants a second time and his hand is on Ian’s God damned dick and thanks to Linda, it’s been awhile since he last had a hand on his dick.

Ian opens his mouth to say something and Mickey slaps a hand over it, forestalling whatever it was (Ian certainly has no idea.).

“Shut up. You wake my dad up and this is not going to be fun times for you or for me, Firecrotch,” Mickey warns direly.

_“Christ man, don’t go wrecking the party before I get the chance to get you inside of me. Such a fucking nice dick, bet it reaches real deep.”_

Somehow, Ian’s surprised by that, even though he tops with Kash all the time. He doesn’t mind, he just wouldn’t have thought Mickey was the type.

Ian takes Mickey’s wrist and moves his hand away from his mouth. Mickey’s got smaller wrists and hands than Ian, which probably means he’s at the limits of his height unless he hits a late growth spurt.

Ian’s never been one to let an opportunity go to waste, though, so he grabs Mickey by the hips and steers him over so that Mickey’s face down on the bed and Ian’s on top.

 _“Fuck yeah, good intuition, Gallagher, put it the fuck in me,”_ Mickey thinks.

Mickey’s a teenaged boy. He’s apparently a teenaged boy that likes things up his ass. Ian doesn’t hesitate to reach for the closest drawer and pull out the lotion and condoms that come easily to hand, like he knew they would.

Mickey gives a little moan at the sound of the lotion cap flipping up. He tries to muffle it with his pillow, and Ian has a vaguely hysterical thought about pillow biters that he doesn’t quite dare to develop into a real joke.

“It’s okay,” says Ian, a little breathless. “You can just think it.” Ian taps two fingers against his skull in the symbol universally acknowledged to indicate those with psychic abilities. “I’ll get it.”

Mickey’s eyes widen. “You can read minds?” he hisses, looking horrified.

Ian rolls his eyes and pours lotion on his hand. He notices that Mickey isn’t putting a stop to the proceedings, despite his apparent horror.

Mickey digs his forehead back into the pillow as Ian pushed a finger inside of him. “Not everything,” he says, over Mickey’s muffled cursing, pushing away the idle thought that it would be very easy to convince Mickey that he was a powerful telepath. “Just sex stuff. About me.”

Mickey turns his head to give Ian the side eye, still looking skeptical, but his legs spread to accommodate Ian as he settles in behind him and pushes in another finger, and he doesn’t object when Ian lifts the condom to his lips with his unoccupied hand. Ian rips the condom open with his teeth the way Lip always scolds him about doing, because it's too easy to damage it that way. But Ian knows for a fact that Lip opens his condoms the same way when he's in a rush, so he doesn’t put too much stock into that piece of brotherly wisdom.

Mickey’s face still holds a kernel of suspicion, but he doesn’t object when Ian rolls the condom down his cock and shoves a third finger inside him at the same time.

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey says finally and puts his head back down as Ian removes his fingers and lines up to enter him. Then Ian is pushing in and Mickey seems to forget whatever it is that made him hesitate in favor of concentrating on the best way to get Ian in his ass as fast as possible.

Having invited Mickey to express himself mentally, Ian shouldn’t have been surprised when his brain lit up with activity the second he was fully seated.

Mickey’s pillow muffles a curse and the other boy lifts his hand to his mouth, gnawing on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, trying to keep from crying out.

_“Oh, God, Gallagher’s got a big dick. Yes, there, thank God, he appears to know what to do with it. You’re pretty good at this, Gallagher. Don’t treat me like I’m a china doll, Firecrotch, just give it to me.”_

Ian’s breath caught, and he speeds up his pace. He’d never been addressed mentally, not directly. Even Kash hadn’t used his power in quite that way before.

Maybe he should have, Ian thinks. It was pretty hot.

Mickey is pretty hot, too, which Ian wouldn’t have predicted. He's compact, his muscles more defined than Ian’s despite Ian’s ROTC training. He looks older than sixteen, which was fine. Ian likes older men.

In other ways, though, he is very different from Kash. Rougher, for one thing. Ian should have anticipated that from a Milkovich. And even though he's silent once they get started, he was a lot more mentally vocal than Kash had ever been.

Kash liked to be coaxed into orgasm, with Ian going nice and slow and working Kash’s cock. Mickey just seems to want to be pounded, and he takes care of himself, his hand wedged between the mattress and his hips, which was fine with Ian, because he can focus on the feeling of his dick in Mickey’s ass and Mickey’s words in his head. Mickey is so tight, tighter than Kash, even though Ian had done more prep than he usually did with Kash. Was it just because Mickey was smaller, or was he just less experienced? Hell, maybe Mickey was a virgin.

That thought is so unexpectedly stimulating, that Ian pulls completely out of Mickey, clamping down on the base of his cock to keep from ending it right there, and using his other hand to hook under Mickey’s thigh and coax him over to his stomach.

Mickey went willingly enough, though his whole face screamed, “What the fuck, Gallagher,” but when he was facing Ian and Ian settles back in to push inside again, he just chews on his lip and reaches back to brace himself until Ian settles back into a rhythm, before dropping his hand back to his own cock.

This is both better and worse, because Ian can practically see the thoughts flitting across Mickey’s eyes as they flash across his brain, but he can also see Mickey’s face and his hands working his cock, and there is just no way he was going to be able to hold on as long as he usually did with Kash.

Sure enough, not even two minutes after switching positions, Ian is coming, with Mickey’s hand still going over his cock. Ian is mortified – he always made sure his partner comes first when he tops – but Mickey doesn’t seem to mind any, just makes a small noise of satisfaction and starts working his cock even more frantically as Ian softens inside of him.

Ian stares in fascination. He hasn’t watched another boy jerk off since Roger Spikey. Mickey isn’t as big as Roger ( _no one_ is as big as Roger), but he has a nice cock, long and slim and uncut. Mickey works it almost violently, squeezing in a way that Ian would have classified as too hard, but Mickey’s face is contorted with pleasure.

Mickey likes his sex a little rough, Ian notes absently, and files that little tidbit away, because Mickey Milkovich wants to do this again. Maybe next time, it would be Ian’s hand, working a little too hard and fast over Mickey’s cock.

_“You like that, Gallagher? Like watching me get myself off? ‘Cause you’re a selfish little shit? Never would have guessed it, under that stupid puppy face.”_

It shouldn’t even have been sexual. Most of it was insulting. But Ian is staring down at Mickey’s smirking face, watching Mickey’s rough hands moving up and down, Ian’s own spent cock slipping out of Mickey’s ass, and he almost feels ready to go again.

Mickey comes, spilling all over his hands and stomach, and why is that so hot when with Kash it's only vaguely distasteful and annoying to clean up?

Mickey sighs in satisfaction, grabbing the ratty blanket and pulling it over the two of them, hiding their naked bodies and spunk.

“Jesus Christ, Gallagher, when can we do that again and why haven’t we done that before, that’s what I want to know.”

Ian grins at the ceiling, and even the rolling unease that came with Terry Milkovich can’t fully dampen his spirits, because fucking Mickey had probably been the best sex of his life so far, and Mickey wants to do it again.

Even if, as he would soon learn, he didn’t want to kiss Ian on the mouth.

Ian can work with that.


End file.
